


Zabdarazi

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Jodhaa Akbar canon fics [11]
Category: Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)
Genre: ABC Challenge, F/M, Gen, Tumblr fills, some AU, some canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:38:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 7,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: A collection of Jodhaa Akbar Tumblr fills, written for each letter of the alphabet.





	1. A for Adjustment (Jalal)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/gifts), [weaslayyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaslayyy/gifts), [MayavanavihariniHarini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayavanavihariniHarini/gifts), [NymeriaR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NymeriaR/gifts).



> Thanks to Avani (@avani008), Maya (@parlegee), @just-a-clever-fool, Shubhra (@mayavanavihariniharini), @mounamelanoyi, and all the anons who offered prompts for this story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For just-a-clever-fool.

“A surprise for you, My Emperor,” Khan Baba murmurs to where Jalal is curled up on the window seat. The day’s formalities are over, and he had intended to wallow in grief for the rest of the evening. Still, he follows his foster father to his audience chamber. Standing in the center is--

“Bakshi,” Jalal breathes, and flies into her arms.

“Brother,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. He has not seen her since her marriage to Ibrahim Mirza, and how she has changed since then. Last he saw her, she was still very much a girl; now she is a young woman. They used to be of the same height; now he must adjust his position so that her chin does not bump the top of his head.

“I did not know you would come back,” he says as he withdraws from their embrace. 

Bakshi shrugs, the pallor of grief now settling over her face. “Ibrahim agreed that I should be with you, in such a time like this.”

“It was kind of you,” Jalal says dully, his initial pleasure at their reunion fading. 

“No more than my duty, brother,” Bakshi says firmly. Five years apart and still it is as if they had just seen each other yesterday. “I also wanted to see you again. You will be a good Emperor,” she says more gently, “and put everyone who has come before you to shame.”

For the first time since news of Abba’s death came, Jalal believes it.


	2. B for Betrayal (Salima)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Avani! @avani008

“Sure there is a limit to her obstinacy!” Salima mutters when the Emperor returns to Agra alone. Refusing to convert, ordering a temple to be built, cooking for the festival with her own hands-- those are all understandable. Admirable, even, that Empress Jodhaa strives to cling to her faith and her culture in an unfamiliar land. But refusing to come back with her lord husband, when he had himself journeyed to Amer to apologize to her -- that crosses the line right into childish petulance. Betrayal, even, after the Emperor had been surpassingly kind and honored her every wish. 

(She does not dwell on the possibility that blaming the Empress eases Salima’s own guilt at her betrayal, the needling sense that had she spoken up at the outset, this whole mess would have been averted.)

“You call it obstinacy,” Iram says lightly as she folds linen. “I call it courage. It is not easy, after all, to look the Emperor in the eye and tell him he has been foolish and must make amends.”

“He should have spoken to her before taking Maham Anga at her word,” Salima concedes. “But, Iram, don’t you see? Is it not risky for her to refuse to come back, especially when they have never consummated the marriage?” She blushes at speaking of such intimate matters, but she has long learned that there is no such thing as privacy in the Mughal court, or any royal court. 

“He might decide that she is more trouble than it’s worth, and dissolve their marriage, or take another wife? What then?”

Iram smiles, as though she is privy to something Salima does not know. “I think,” she says coyly, “you will not have any worries on that score.”

Salima frowns. Iram goes over to a shelf and comes back bearing a small bundle, which turns out to contain --

“Maharani’s incense sticks,” Salima breathes. “I thought she would have taken all of them back with her…”

“The Emperor has ordered that incense continue to be lit and wafted in her chambers every day, even if they are empty,” Iram explains. “Just as she did before.”

Salima nods, recalling how every morning, Jodhaa would stride through her apartments, spreading the sweet-smelling smoke with her own hands, and how she seemed to take comfort in it. How the Emperor would watch her curiously every morning, as though there were no greater gift than to witness her prayers.

“Perhaps there is hope for them yet,” Salima finally says. Perhaps her betrayal has not spelled doom for them, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iram is my own OFC.


	3. C for Clandestine & Cajole (Neelakshi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For just-a-clever-fool.

Jodhaa, as a rule, is not one to create trouble. Oh, she had always insisted on swords lessons from her brother Sujamal, and she had sometimes been more forthright than is proper for a girl, but she has always been a dutiful daughter and princess, satisfied with her lot in life.

So when Neelakshi hears that her mistress has insisted on seeing the Emperor before the marriage, and that she has conditions of her own, she is flabbergasted, bluntly. To be alone with her husband before they are even wed -- before it is even _certain_ that they will wed -- such a thing is fit only for illicit lovers who arrange clandestine trysts!

Had Neelakshi been remiss in telling the story of Rukmini Devi and Sri Krishna so often to Jodhaa, as a child? Has she taken it into her head that the Mughal Emperor will appreciate such impudence in his bride as Krishna did in his Rukmini? Had Neelakshi emphasized the Bhagavad Gita too much, where Arjuna’s nerves failing at the eleventh hour gave rise to one of the most profound colloquies of all time? Does Jodhaa think her own last-minute stunt will be as celebrated and as legendary?

This certainly will be remembered in history, Neelakshi muses darkly.

No matter how she cajoles Jodhaa, she will not listen. “At least tell me what these conditions are,” she insists, but Jodhaa will not give even that much ground. Then there is a hiss at the door, and Neelakshi and the other maids must leave. The Emperor is to meet with Jodhaa entirely alone.

She takes her place with the Queen and the other ladies, veiling herself as the Emperor strides out and speaks. It is as bad as Neelakshi feared; she ought to have smacked Jodhaa about the cheek more often when she was younger. A cruel thought, but perhaps if she had, her mistress would have been saved from the calamity that shall surely --

“Allah willing, her demands will be met to her satisfaction.”

Neelakshi blinks, but the Emperor is already leaving, his guards hurriedly tailing him. No roars of outrage, no orders that Amer be burned to the ground and salted, that he have the heads of its disgraceful royal family, that they hand over one third of their annual harvest for the next fifty years. If anything, he seemed rather amused as he left the tent, almost pleased.

History will certainly remember this day.


	4. D for Disguise (Ni’mat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Avani.

Trust Allah to will that the very next day after the Empress sets Shah and Shurukh free, the Emperor should inquire after them.

“I am sure they are fine, Your Majesty,” Ni’mat says briefly, hoping to ward off any further questions.

The Emperor raises an eyebrow. “You are sure? Not, ‘Yes, they are fine’, but ‘I am sure they are fine’?”

“My duties as Head Eunuch leave me with little time to attend to the menagerie. Her Majesty prefers to watch over the animals herself. Perhaps she would be better-placed to enlighten you.” Ni’mat has no compunctions about throwing her mistress underneath the proverbial elephant. Besides, she thinks coyly, she highly doubts Jalaluddin Muhammad could ever bring himself to be angry with his wife, no matter the cause.

“But you reside in the women’s quarters every day, surely you hear them, even if you don’t attend upon them.” His lips twitch, as though he is trying to disguise a smile. Ni’mat is suddenly _very_ suspicious.

“Last I heard, they were attempting to mimic Her Majesty’s _bhajans_. Perhaps you would one day care to listen to a rendition?”

Her wicked jab is immediately rewarded with a deep blush, and Ni’mat is satisfied. Another servant may have been reprimanded, but having watched over the Emperor ever since he was a knobby-kneed stripling does have its perks. He dismisses her with a small flick, and, smiling with satisfaction, Ni’mat bows and departs.


	5. E for Effervescence (Sujamal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Maya/ @parlegee
> 
> (Set in the Sujamal is caught and lives AU)

Even though it is close to midnight, Jodhaa had ordered Neelakshi to brew her a hot cup of chai. “I’ll be needing it,” her mistress had muttered, in the same tone of voice she would use when gearing up for dueling with Prince Sujamal.

Neelakshi now stands awkwardly on the threshold of the royal chambers, where the Emperor and Empress of Hindustan are bellowing at each other at the top of their lungs. She still clutches the cup of chai, the effervescence having long since faded away.

“If this man currently sitting in the dungeons is truly your brother, why on earth were you tying a lover’s knot around his wrist?”

“It’s a _rakhi!_ ” Jodhaa snaps. “A gift that a sister gives to her brother. One of my customs-- customs, I might remind you, that you so grandly promised to respect.”

The Emperor drops his face into his hands, the very picture of exhaustion. When he finally deigns to speak: “How can this be? Badi Ami has raised and nurtured me all my life-- why would she lie about such a thing?”

“Your precious Maham Anga also raised Adham Khan,” Jodhaa says bluntly. When she wants to, she can be merciless. “He inherited his ruthlessness from somewhere.”

Neelakshi wonders if she should have the cup of chai rewarmed, or simply brew a new cup-- but then Jodhaa strides out of the room without even looking at her, and the Emperor follows her after a moment. Neelakshi sighs and takes a sip of the cold liquid herself.


	6. F for Futile (Maham Anga)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For just-a-clever-fool.

Getting to see Bakshi for the first time in five years, Jalal thinks, would be more enjoyable if Adham would stop hovering over them with his sneering comments. Jalal could order him out, but he is not yet quite keen to use his newfound power as the Emperor.

“My little brother and little sister, all grown up! Jalal has become an Emperor, and Bakshi has finally become a wife in truth!”

Bakshi blushes furiously, and Badi Ami swats at Adham, but she is futile in trying to wipe that arrogant smirk off her son’s face. Caught as Jalal is in the morasses of grief, there is something funny about seeing his big brother, more than a decade older than him, thwacked across the head like a child.

Later, Jalal asks Badi Ami what Adham meant. She sighs and explains, that although Bakshi was married at ten, Ibrahim has waited until she is fifteen to consummate the marriage.

“Can a man do such a thing?” Jalal asks in wonder.

Badi Ami dismisses it with a flick of her hand. “Your sister was not much more than a child, when first they wed. I supposed Ibrahim Mirza preferred to wait until she was a young woman.

“Your own mother was much the same age when she had you,” Badi Ami continues, with something in her voice Jalal cannot identify and puts out of his mind. He is somewhat cheered by the news, to know that there is no shame in delaying consummating a marriage. He has known he must marry one day -- the prospect has been bandied about for a while, especially now that he is Emperor -- but he still feels himself a boy in many ways, and putting off that day seems like a blessing. 

In any case, his father’s general, Bairam Khan Baba, is intent on reclaiming the Delhi throne from the usurper Hemu, and so talks of wedding have been shelved for now. Perhaps when Hindustan is consolidated, perhaps then Jalal will be ready for a wife. 


	7. G for Gentle (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anonymous.
> 
> Set after the movie.

They both awaken extraordinarily early, even by Jodhaa’s standards. The sky is barely the gray of pre-dawn, so Jalal is content to settle more comfortably amongst the sheets and let her snuggle against his chest.

He has nearly dozed off when he feels his hand gently squeezed. Smiling sleepily, he returns the gesture.

He feels her stiffen slightly, and even in his fogged state of mind, apprehension begins to build. A moment of tension, then she shifts closer and presses a hand against his chest, sliding it in where his tunic hangs loose. Her eyes meet his: a question in them and something like--

_desire._

_Oh._

Smiling, he moves closer, and she finally breaks into a smile of her own, so shy but so tender as well.

Dawn spills into their chamber to find them satiated and satisfied.


	8. H for Husband (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anonymous!
> 
> (“Husband” can also mean to conserve the amount of something.)

Jalal is breathing hard, chest heaving and straining under the bandages, but his gaze is clear as he lays upon the bed, his mother and his wife on either side of him and each holding a hand.

“I thought I had won their hearts,” Jalal mumbles.

“You did.” Jodhaa brushes his sweat-soaked curls off his forehead, rubs his good shoulder. In the most whispery of whispers: “And you have won mine.”

The confession seems to uncork something inside her, give rise to the flood of tears she has been holding back until now. Jodhaa weeps almost silently, her gasps louder than her cries, and in between half-sobs, she whispers brokenly, “ _Not so soon…”_

Hamida can relate to Jodhaa; just when Jalal has welcomed her back into his life and his heart, for such a thing to happen… Sometimes fate can play the cruelest of tricks.

“What happened to the assassin?” Even in his feverish near-death state, Jalal is still the Emperor, assessing the situation and the present level of danger. Hamida and Jodhaa share a look, and then shrug as one, admitting neither has any clue. Hamida has not allowed herself to think about the assassin, or else she would have done something she could not be held responsible for. Jodhaa’s expression indicates she feels much the same.

Chughtai Khan, who has been a respectful but distant witness, finally grunts, “Poison pill.”

“Coward,” Hamida hisses under her breath.

“Then we don’t know who was behind it,” Jalal says grimly. “Chughtai Khan. Assign extra guards for the Empress and the Dowager Empress at all hours.”

He shifts in his agitation, and a spurt of blood darkens his tunic. The wound has reopened. “Keep still!” Hamida snaps. “Conserve your strength.”

Perhaps if she had been the one to raise him, he would quail beneath such a glare. Now he simply ignores her, intent on communicating his orders. “Whoever is behind this may well decide to strike at other members of the royal family. And,” he sends an apologetic look to Jodhaa, “some may consider the return of the Rajput Empress at the same time as an assassination attempt more than an unfortunate coincidence.”

Jodhaa nods understandingly, and Hamida’s heart swells. Jalal failed to protect his Queen once against her enemies; he is determined not to fail her again, even after an arrow to the chest.

The Empresses step back to allow the physicians to do their work. As they move out of earshot, Jodhaa drops her brave front and turns to her mother-in-law, anxiety burning in her gaze. “It really wasn’t more than an unfortunate coincidence, was it?”

“No,” Hamida says immediately. “If anything, your return may have been the stroke of good luck your Jalal needed.”

Jodhaa blushes at the _your Jalal_. “How can you be sure that luck will be on our side? It has only been one day…”

“And you will stop that thought right there, child,” Hamida says. “We have a very narrow strait ahead of us, and you must save your strength.”

“I think I shall pray,” Jodhaa says finally.

Hamida nods, smiling tightly. “Perhaps with Allah and your Shyam working together, they will see us through.”

Jodhaa is already turning to go when she glances back. “They will,” she says, with all the conviction of a warrior Empress, and goes.


	9. I for Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @just-a-clever-fool

He asks one evening as they are preparing for bed if he may let down her hair, instead of doing it herself or having Neelakshi or Madhavi do it. Jodhaa is mildly puzzled, but humors him.

He undoes the tie at the bottom of her braid, allowing the unbraided tail to splay out further. His fingers move slowly up her back, gently tugging the hair out of its plait and running through the strands so that they stream down her back in waves. She is not sure why such a simple action should have shivers running down her spine, why his calloused fingers brushing against her scalp should make her feel so warm. When her hair is fully free, he wraps his arms around her from behind so that he may tug her closer and bury his nose in her tresses. Jodhaa smiles, and clasps her hands over his.


	10. J for Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Maya! @parlegee

“Psst!”

Jodhaa glances up from the tome she had been studying, to see Kumba gesturing at her door frantically. She asks no questions, but instead puts the scroll down and follows him into the darkened corridors. Kumba is Sujamal bhaisa’s best friend, and she trusts him implicitly.

Her trust is rewarded as they near one of her father’s wine cellars, and she hears a muffled commotion. The door swings open, and a very harassed-looking Sujamal bhaisa is half-dragging, half-carrying a _very_ tipsy Bhagwant Das.

Sujamal throws them a questioning glance when he sees Jodhaa. “I couldn’t let her miss such a spectacle,” is Kumba’s explanation, to which Sujamal simply sighs. “Just help me get him to his rooms before anyone finds him.”

“When you said Bhagwant Das doesn’t know how to hold his wine,” Jodhaa says, “you weren’t doing him justice.”

“ _Justice_ ,” Bhaisa snaps, “would be leaving this imbecile on the cellar floor, to choke on his vomit and be found by some unsuspecting maid come morning, and then dragged to answer before our illustrious uncle! Now either help me, or at least stop smirking.”

“But I _told_ you, bhaisa, that I can drink five bottles and still make it back to my room…” Bhagwant Das slurs. “I never back down from a challenge…”

By this point Jodhaa is laughing so hard her sides are aching with the effort of keeping silent. Most princesses would be shielded from such a sight, but Sujamal has never cared for trying to preserve her purity of mind. It is a fact of life that young men will try (and fail) at drinking wine and not losing their senses.

Kumba takes Bhagwant Das’s other arm, and together the quartet make their way back to the drunken prince’s chambers, where they make quick work of getting off his wine-stained garments, cleaning him up (somewhat), and ushering him into bed. “When I was your age,” Sujamal mutters, “I didn’t have anyone to throw me over their shoulder and haul me back to bed. I woke up in the morning with a pounding headache and had to explain myself to uncle like a man.”

“You truly are the Kalki avatar, Bhaisa.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sujamal says, but he makes sure to tuck the blankets all the way up, the way Bhagwant Das likes. Jodhaa makes sure to blow out all the candles, while Kumba sets the wine-sodden rags to be cleaned, before they tiptoe out of his room and close the door gently as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kumba is Sujamal's friend who Sharifuddin stabs at the end of the movie.


	11. K for Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Maya @parlegee

She treasures his kisses on the forehead most of all.

They have done things much more intimate, and yet Jodhaa always finds herself looking forward to the kiss he bestows upon her crown every evening before bed. The quick pecks he will drop at quiet moments during the day — sometimes with nothing more than a sheer curtain separating them from the court, a recklessness that thrills her. If he neglects his habit (which is rare, but happens occasionally), she does not remonstrate with him. She simply presses her lips to his forehead, notwithstanding the necessity of straining her toes and neck to reach it. He always chuckles, low and warm, when she does so before cupping her face in his hands and belatedly returning the favor. 


	12. L for Lexicon (Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @avani008

“The real Prince of Ajabgarh, _Jahanpanah_ ,” Jodhaa whispers, as they watch the procession of Rajput kings and princes. Amer’s example, combined with the repeal of the pilgrimage tax, had been enough to convince much of Rajputana to set aside their misgivings concerning the Mughals. Thus the Diwan-i-Khas is full of its rulers, ready to swear fealty to their Emperor.

Ajabgarh is one such province, and its King and Crown Prince are here today in Agra as well, looking distinctly uncomfortable but disguising it well. Jalal’s eyes settle upon Rajkumar Ratan Singh, and feels a prickling run over his spine. There is an odd feeling in his craw that no word in his lexicon seems to capture, something beyond the natural jealousy that arises at coming face-to-face with one’s wife’s former betrothed. The sensation that even had they been two ordinary men meeting without creed or class to separate them, he, Jalal, would have still been wary of this Ratan Singh.

“Did you know him well? You were promised to him, after all,” he asks, affecting a tone of casual disinterest that Jodhaa is not fooled by.

“There is no need to be territorial!” she chuckles, eyes sparkling. “We were betrothed, but that was all it was-- an agreement between our fathers. I only knew him from a distance, though he seemed a decent enough sort.”

“Hopefully, he is decent enough to be a loyal vassal of the Mughal Empire,” Jalal murmurs, and decides to leave it at that. Far below them, the procession moves on.


	13. M for Morning (After), (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anonymous.

Neelakshi and Salima are confused when Jodhaa does not return from her calligraphy lessons that night. Salima is in favor of inquiring and investigating, but Neelakshi, who can still keenly remember the brutal swiftness with which they were ejected from the Red Fort, vetoes drawing any attention to their missing mistress. Rumors can be deadly, after all.

“Besides,” as Neelakshi tells Salima, “Jodhaa can take care of herself.”

Salima nods and wonders at their swordfighting, self-exiling Hindu Empress, and somehow cannot imagine the Red Fort without her presence in it. 

The next morning, three of the Emperor’s personal manservants are there, attempting to enter Jodhaa’s prayer room. Neelakshi is angry to see these men intruding in the women’s palace, and in the Empress’s holiest chamber -- though they have clearly been educated to remove their shoes before entering.

“The image of the Lord cannot be disturbed by Muslim hands!” Neelakshi snaps, as they crowd around the Krishna idol. 

“We will not move it,” one man attempts to explain. “We only mean to take measurements.”

“Whatever for?” Neelakshi retorts. “Why are you even in the harem anyway, when the Empress is not here?”

The man smiles coyly. “It was the Empress’s idea to move her temple to the Emperor’s rooms. And the Emperor’s idea to simply have another another one built for his chambers. Hence, our need to take measurements, so that the second temple may be in no way imperfect to the first.”

“But why would the Emperor want Krishna in his rooms… Ah!” Comprehension blossoms in Neelakshi’s mind. “Ah. I see.”

And with a smile, Neelakshi allows the builders to assess the dimensions of the statue. “We will need to make another set of Her Majesty’s cosmetics,” Salima says, beaming. “I don’t think we can divide her current set in two.”

“And her trunks and wardrobe too, I suppose,” Neelakshi says cheerfully. “We have our work cut out for us!”


	14. N for Nativity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @avani008

The second time Jalal goes to Amer, it is with Jodhaa by his side. She could ride in her palanquin, but she prefers to be on open saddleback beside him, at the head of the procession. He too was born in Rajputana, she remembers, as she sees him looking at the mountains that make up her home, and she glances upon them in a new light, as the sites of both their nativities.

She urges her horse to canter closer to him, and once she is within earshot, she whispers, feeling quite daring, “If you wish to spend tonight in my chambers, you will have to pick me out once more from the women of the palace.”

“I thought that was an ordeal reserved for the first time a son-in-law visits, not the second,” he whispers back, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Have you not forgotten that we have a fine history of destroying customs?” she laughs back. “Besides,” she says archly, “there is no custom saying that if a husband is so unlucky as to find himself beneath the stars, his wife may not join him there if she chooses.”


	15. O for Ornithic (Jodhaa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For avani.

Jalal finds Jodhaa sitting in the midst of a flock of birds. She sees him and shoos them away to make room for him. She attempts to smile, then turns her head away and continues scattering birdseed with an unusual concentration. He finds himself feeling much the same these days.

“Your father has decided to take up residence in Agra, while we sort out the Ajmer situation.” Or what has become more accurately the Ajmer-Amer situation. He hopes it will bring Jodhaa some comfort to have her father living under the same roof; he knows she is happy here, now, but he also knows how she mourns the distance between herself and her family, and that she needs all the familiarity she can get in a time like this.

Jodhaa nods at this, but does not smile. A small frown, almost imperceptible, mars her face before it returns to its brittle mask. “You wish he was not here?” he asks, because he senses he now has the right to ask such a question, to pick at a tender spot where once he would have remained silent. 

“It is not that,” Jodhaa finally says, her voice low. She continues to watch the birds, though he can tell she is not really watching them. “I am glad to know he is here.”

“But that’s not all,” he guesses, and is rewarded with a nod. He waits, because he knows she will elaborate.

“I’m almost ashamed to admit it… but at the same time, I’m not. If he had been wiser, perhaps this would never have happened.”

“You cannot possibly pin all the blame on him, when the invasion has been brewing for years,” Jalal says in confusion. “Unless you mean had he not insisted on the alliance, this never would have happened? You think it was a mistake?”

“It’s not that! I would never regret us. I am talking about mistakes that go back much farther. It isn’t entirely his fault, of course —  but his mistakes might have sown the seeds. And to be here now feels like too little, too late.”

“So because of that, you wish he was not here?” His offense taken is perhaps a shade too harsh, but when he would give anything to have Abu with him again, or Khan Baba, or even Bairam Khan Baba to guide him, it’s hard not to be put off by her lackluster reaction.

Jodhaa shakes her head impatiently. “I mean, if he had given Sujamal bhaisa the crown as was his right, then he would have had no reason to leave and begin plotting. Perhaps if he had treated him like his own son, as he should have done —“ 

Jodhaa stops, swallowing painfully. Automatically Jalal brings a hand up to her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Perhaps Sujamal bhaisa wouldn’t have been so quick to assume that I betrayed him, and he would not be plotting against the Peacock Throne.”

Silence hangs thick over them, during which Jalal’s own guilt, his own presumption and folly surfaces. Jodhaa has forgiven him, but that cannot undo the consequences, which may well include the death of yet another brother. 

Fleetingly he wonders what it would be like to be one of these feathery creatures, unbeholden by kingdom or duty or blood, forever flying free on the crest of the wind. He supposes Jodhaa may be right about Raja Bharmal, and right to have such conflicted feelings, not when he has similar thoughts about Badi Ami and Bairam Khan Baba, even now. He wonders if he will ever come to a consensus.

He has no answers for Jodhaa, so they sit there, hand in hand, amidst squawking and flapping and beating wings.


	16. P for Parenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @just-a-clever-fool

“What mother’s word is not God’s?” Jalal demands, desperate for some scrap of reasoning by means of which he may redeem himself. “Would you not have trusted your own mother, and taken her at her word?”

Even in the midst of her indignation, it’s a question Jodhaa must consider seriously. Her first instinct is to agree that yes, she would have trusted her mother, had faith in her words and her motives and never questioned them. 

But then she considers the question more carefully. She thinks of how her mother had warned her against the Mughal barbarians, of how she had advocated sending another girl in Jodhaa’s place, and when Jodhaa struck that down, given her a vial of poison. How Jodhaa had taken that little vial out, turned it over so many times in her palm, had drafted that letter to Sujamal with her mother’s words ringing in her ears. In the end, though, she had always put the vial back, had always tucked the letter away. Her mother’s words had not been the bedrock upon which she made her decisions. 

“No,” is Jodhaa’s answer, firm and full of conviction. Her husband is taken aback by the vehemence. 

“My own mother warned me against you,” Jodhaa elaborates, and takes a savage pleasure in the surprise on his face. “It was she who told me that drinking poison would be better than life tied to you. I chose not to take her at her word and to have faith in this marriage. And as for how that faith was rewarded… do I really need to say anymore?”

It is a cruel blow, and he drops his gaze in burning shame. It’s enough to convince Jodhaa to take some measure of pity on him. “You did the right thing in the end,” she says softly, and he glances up. “You listened to the other side of the evidence, and I know it must have been painful to banish her. It is not a sin to trust, but that trust should be paired with evidence.”

He finally has the courage to meet her eyes. “It took time, for me, to learn not to trust blindly,” Jodhaa finds it is easier than she thought, somehow, to reveal something so personal. “And,” she says without quite thinking, “I have faith that in time, you too can learn how to as well.”

The gratitude on his face is payment enough for how vulnerable she has made herself.


	17. Q for Quandary (Sujamal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Shubhra! @mayavanavihariniharini
> 
> (Set in the “Sujamal is caught and lives AU”)

Sujamal’s swiftness is no match for the Mughal Royal Army’s stealth; his horse has not galloped more than three strides before the guards surround him and knock him to the ground. 

Of all the possible betrayals, Jodhaa’s is the one he never would have expected. Jodhaa whom he taught how to wield a sword, Jodhaa who has always felt his struggles most keenly… why would she do this now? Can a few months of marriage to a Mughal really change what is in a person’s heart so? It’s a quandary he has no time to ponder before he is hauled unceremoniously back up to his feet. 

“Does he go to the dungeons?” one guard asks.

“I think the Emperor would prefer to look this traitor in the eye before he does so. He’ll come with the Empress to the entrance,” is the grim answer.

“You  _ knew _ I would come,” Sujamal spits out at Jodhaa as the procession sets out for the drawbridge. “You  _ knew _ I would walk right into your trap, and played me like a fiddle.”

“I had nothing to do with this!” Jodhaa protests, having the audacity to sound like she is weeping. “I -- that letter -- someone must have found it, and sent it. God knows I have many enemies in this court.”

“A likely story. Did you promise your Jalaluddin Muhammad the capture of your traitorous brother, in exchange for that temple? Is that the price he exacted from you?”

“If I was a willing participant in this,” Jodhaa snaps, “why am I as much a prisoner as you?”

She gestures to the guards who, though they let her walk on her own, are tightly closed in around her so that she cannot escape. Sujamal would answer, but at that point his captor gags and silences him. They spend the rest of their brief journey crashing through undergrowth in silence, until they stand before the drawbridge, lowering with a creaky groan that splits the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually part of a longer fix-it where it’s realized right away Sujamal is not Ratan Singh, and out of remorse (and to appease a furious Jodhaa), Jalal gives Sujamal his rights as Crown Prince of Amer. Therefore Sujamal never has any reason to consort with Sharifuddin, saving his life in the long run.


	18. R for Rapture (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anonymous.

When she sees the sweat beading up on his forehead and the physicians’ faces fall, the edges of her world blacken. She runs, dashes, _sprints_ to the one refuge she has always sought out when she despairs, yet she has never known despair like this, that numbs her senses and dries her tongue and pounds her head. He can’t die, because if he dies, then there will be nothing left for her.

Jodhaa clasps her hands together and prays to Krishna.

She does not know exhaustion or pain or hunger; all she knows is that the life is ebbing out of her husband and that the Lord is the only one who can stop it. She does not realize she has been praying all night until light floods the room. Sunrise limns the temple he gave her, his first gift of his compassion and understanding and solidarity.

(Later, he will tell her about the radiance that enveloped his mind the night they wed, that chased away any and all doubts he may have had.)

For now, there is only the knowledge that he lives. He _lives_ , her husband will recover and he will regain his strength and she will challenge him to a rematch and he will show her all the parts of the palace he never got to before and they will sneak out amongst the commoners together and she will tell him she loves him and they will be happy together for the rest of their lives. There is no sight more glorious than his face, still pale and stained with stubble, but awake and alert. And as she gazes upon him, something in his eyes tells her that he finds the sight of her face just wondrous.


	19. S for Spring (Jodhaa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Shubhra. @mayavanavihariniharini

The sun bears down on the princes of Amer and the young sons of Rajput nobles practicing their swordfighting in the courtyard. Clangs of blades and grunts and yells echo in the training arena until--

“Sujamal bhaisa!”

Young Princess Jodhaa makes her way through the courtyard, flanked by two of her maids and tailed by her harried-looking nurse. In her arms is a plateful of jasmine flowers, plucked with her own hands from the blooming bushes in the gardens. Her veil is askew, and her hair loose.

“Bhaisa!”

The object of her insistence pauses his exercises to look at her. His guru looks askance at him for breaking form, before noticing the stripling princess and sinking into a hasty bow. Jodhaa makes her way through the lines of boys practicing their footwork, picking up speed as she nears Sujamal. 

“Sujamal bhaisa, I want you to braid my hair and weave jasmine flowers into it,” Jodhaa announces imperiously, as though she is a Mughal cleric, issuing a fatwa.

The entire courtyard breaks into titters and snickers at this, silenced when Sujamal simply nods, sets down his sword, and tugs down his veil. He follows his sister-cousin to a corner of the courtyard, where they both sit down and he begins braiding her hair. Jodhaa later declares that no one knows how to braid her hair like Sujamal bhaisa, and that she will never undo the plait that he has woven. Such an enterprise lasts for all of two days before her weary nurse convinces her charge that perhaps she needs to brush out her hair each day if she does not wish for her braid to become a snarled ants’ nest. It is a story, however, that will continue to be told even years later, no matter how Jodhaa blushes. 


	20. T for Trance (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Shubhra! @mayavanavihariniharini

The Emperor decreed that his new wife’s traditions are to be respected, and Salima can do that much, but that does not mean her stomach does not twist with unease whenever the Emperor’s bhajans echo in the palace. Respect she can give; anything else is asking far too much. Bad enough that such idolatry is now permitted in the Red Fort, but what is even worse is the effect it seems to have had on their Emperor, who now walks about as though in a trance whenever he hears the strains of devotional Hindu music.

What spell has the Rajput Empress cast upon Agra? Salima wonders, and shudders. 


	21. U for Ubiquitous (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @just-a-clever-fool

The memory of Maham Anga’s sneers stings Jodhaa long after she has left the kitchens, no matter how Jodhaa tries to lose herself in the familiar rhythm of chopping vegetables and smelling the spices of her homeland. As she and Neelakshi hurry back to her chambers to change out of her cooking-stained garments, Jodhaa murmurs, “I did not know it was a Mughal custom to share the details of one’s wedding night with one’s mother.”

“It’s hardly a Mughal custom. Everyone knew when the Emperor left the tent in the middle of the night -- or rather, they suspected,” Neelakshi says practically. “It’s more likely she heard it through one of her spies. They are everywhere, after all.”

Jodhaa sighs. She supposes it would be like this in any royal court, even had she married Ratan Singh as had been planned for most of her childhood, but it still galls her that such intimate details are the stuff of gossip and tittle-tattle. She suddenly longs for the relative anonymity she enjoyed as the Princess of Amer. Everywhere here are the signs and the emblems of the Muslim faith, everywhere are the eyes of those who wish to see her fall, 

She shakes it off; she is Empress of Hindustan now. Besides, her husband is doing his best to alleviate her homesickness -- and, she thinks with a blush, woo her as well. She adjusts her veil, and the women behind her burst into song as she makes her way to the hall.

*

She is back in Amer (did she not once long to be here?), and Jodhaa is bereft.

She supposes it was foolish to leave a vial of poison and such an incriminating letter among her belongings, but she also did not expect that the Empress of Hindustan’s belongings would be subject to the meddlesome hands of Maham Anga’s spies. Nor did she expect that her husband would throw her out without giving her a chance to speak. Is Maham Anga’s presence really so omnipresent, so ubiquitous, that she can destroy anything, from anywhere?

Back home, she is surrounded everywhere by the trappings of childhood. The pigeons, the courtyards, the arches and sun-carved roofs, the faces that bow to her. And yet she wishes she were somewhere, anywhere else than here.

*

She turns and shifts in his arms slightly as she drifts into awakeness. She is still getting used to having him right next to her in bed, to the smell of him surrounding and engulfing her everywhere. Jodhaa moves so that her head might rest on his chest, right over his beating heart, and closes her eyes again. 


	22. V for Vagabond (Sujamal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @avani008

“He will come, Jodhaa,” Neelakshi murmurs. “Such a flimsy plot will eventually unravel, and he will come back.”

“How will he find out?” Jodhaa points out bleakly. “He will not listen to a single word from me or any Rajput, now that he suspects us all. And that woman will make sure that no one speaks for me.”

Both her husband and her brother now believe that she has betrayed them, and as bitter a fruit it is to swallow, Jodhaa can understand why. She had thought she and her husband could find a place of understanding, but the gulf between their faiths was simply too wide to bridge. She had thought she and Sujamal were each other’s champions, but the distance between brother and cousin meant he chose not to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

Even in the depths of her misery, she knows she must warn her father. “Sujamal thinks I betrayed him,” she explains dully, gazing out the throne room window at the eastern horizon while her father shifts uncomfortably. “He thought it was a trap set up by the Emperor and me, and for all I know, he now believes the whole of Amer has turned our collective backs on him.”

“And in such a state of bitterness, he may well feel justified doing anything in reprisal,” her father finishes with a sigh. “Very well. It was good of you to warn me.”

Jodhaa does not look at him. She shifts her gaze from the eastern horizon to the mountains that separate Amer from the other provinces of Rajputana. Somewhere in those valleys, Sujamal is riding about like a vagabond, desperate for someone, anyone, to give him aid and therefore allow him to feel like he has some worth in the eyes of the world. That hunger has always consumed him, no matter how he disguised it through their childhood, and despite herself, Jodhaa cannot help but feel her father is responsible for putting it there.

Her husband despises her, and there may soon well be a time when she can no longer even call him her husband. Her brother despises her, and they may soon well come a time when they find themselves on opposite sides of a battlefield.

Sighing, Jodhaa leaves her post at the window and goes to pray. 


	23. W for Wisdom (Jalal & Mahesh Das)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @just-a-clever-fool!

“How many bangles does your wife wear?” Jalal asks of Mahesh Das one afternoon, during an informal lunch with only his closest ministers. Jodhaa is present too, though for propriety’s sake behind a veil.

“How many does yours wear?” Mahesh Das asks, and the Emperor answers promptly, “Sixteen on each arm.”

There is a brief tinkling behind the veil, before Jodhaa pronounces with faint amusement, “Correct.”

Mahesh Das smiles slightly before shrugging his shoulders and admitting, “I am not sure.”

“Surely you see her hands every day, and you do not know?” The Emperor is sure he has outwitted Birbal at last.

“Come with me to the gardens.” There Mahesh Das will take him to the staircase to the gardens down which he walks every day, and ask whether he knows how many stairs there are. A shadow passes over the Emperor’s face before he admits that he does not know, and hastily changes the subject.

Mahesh Das later narrates his triumph to the Empress in private, expecting her to laugh, only for the same shadow to pass over her face. “His Majesty the Emperor’s father met his death by way of falling down a staircase,” she reminds him softly, and Mahesh Das feels guilt contract his stomach like a punch.

“I did not mean to stir up long-held pain,” he says sheepishly, feeling very much like a chastised child rather than the Emperor’s most trusted adviser. “I only meant to prove a point.”

Jodhaa smiles. “And there is no shame in doing so. But remember that while it may have been wise to bring up the comparison of the steps, it would have been perceptive to stay away from the topic.”

Mahesh Das nods and shifts, trying to regain his bearings. Jodhaa laughs. “I’m sure my husband has already forgotten the matter, and will chuckle with you over your wit come evening.”

“Truly there is no one wiser than Your Majesty,” he says, and Jodhaa laughs again, louder and longer. “Oh come now! Sometimes you are truly worse than my husband.”

And just like that, Mahesh Das is smiling again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the traditional anecdotes regarding Birbal and Akbar indeed involves the bangles-stairs comparison: http://www.english-for-students.com/Question-for-Question.html


	24. X for Xenos (Jodhaa/Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @mounamelanoyi!

He folds her yellow veil over her head, and she kneels to take his blessings at his feet, but her eyes are cold, colder than they were the first time he saw her. She looks at him like a stranger, and he knows he deserves it, but the pain of such distance is more acute than he ever thought it could have been.

How could he have ever suspected… but it is all too easy to remember the web that Badi Ami had woven, and how to his panic-stricken and grieving mind, it seemed she had spun a terrible and deadly truth. He had thought of Jodhaa as a stranger, because it was the easiest thing to do, and he is now a stranger to her.

It is he, then, who must make amends, and turn them from strangers to something more. 


	25. Y for Yearn (Hamida)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @just-a-clever-fool.

Hamida has never attempted to dismantle a plot without assistance from husband or advisor, but when she returns from the provincial tour to find that Agra bereft of its Empress and Jalal bereft of all happiness, she does not care. She can forgive Maham Anga a thousand things, but she will  _ never _ forgive the painful, yearning look in her son’s eyes, the suffering so painful it is almost radiating out from him.

She is discreet in her investigations: she speaks with Ni’Mat in the dungeons, she confers with a tearful Salima in hushed whispers, and she gathers her evidence. Hamida may have had her doubts about this prideful Hindu princess, but she is certain that neither Jodhaa nor Jalal deserve to be kept apart on the basis of such flimsy deceit and cunning. 

This time, when Maryam Makani plays her hand, Badi Ami will have no idea what hit her. 


	26. Z for Zenith (Jalal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Avani! @avani008

The sun is directly overhead when Sujamal breathes his last. 

The world does not stop turning, even when their world has stopped, and after Jodhaa’s throat has finally become too hoarse for any more tears, they retreat into their tents to prepare to meet with the traitor Sharifuddin. There is still a civil war to avert.

The transformation for Jalal is simpler, in comparison to his wife. From brown and bare head to beige gold and crown. When Jodhaa emerges, she has undergone a transformation of her own. From white and maroon to green and orange, from bare arms stained with crusted blood to alabaster skin underneath tinkling jewels, from wind-swept tangles and snarls to a neat plait, from red-rimmed eyes and quivering lips to a brittle glare.

Emperor and Empress stand at the opening flap of their tent, curled into one another. Above is the sun, Jalal thinks wildly, and below is the earth, and everything twixt the two is the stuff of which life is made. The desert battlefield stretches out before them, shimmering in the midday haze. Jalal can only pray that when the sun descends from its zenith to its nadir, it will not set on another transformation: from fine sand, blindingly white, to blood-drenched earth, staggeringly red. 


End file.
